


Bitten Lips

by writingonpostcards



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4099546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How can you hurt yourself and not realise you’re doing it?” </p><p>“I was distracted at the time.”</p><p>“Doing what.”</p><p>“Something distracting.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitten Lips

**Author's Note:**

> As much as 3000 words of smut can be slowbuild, this kinda is?
> 
> But if you want to skip the introductory/scene setting dialogue just search for "Lydia stares at Derek" and go from there. It'll get you to the hot and heavy stuff about 500 words sooner!

“You’re hurt.”

Lydia looks up at Derek, so close to her on the couch from where they’ve been researching together. His eyebrows are drawn down in concern.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Lydia. Don’t lie.”

“It’s just my lip and it only hurts if I put pressure on it. It’s _fine.”_

“How did it happen? Did someone hurt you?” 

“No, Derek. I did it to myself.”

“You hurt yourself?” The ‘on purpose’ is implied.

“It was an accident. I didn’t realise at the time.”

“How can you hurt yourself and not realise you’re doing it?” It’s exasperation but underneath, hidden unless you’ve spent as much time around Derek as Lydia has, is genuine interest; a lack of understanding that Derek wants to be filled.

“I was distracted at the time.”

“Doing what.”

“Something distracting.”

_“Lydia.”_

She sighs and tilts her head back, closing her eyes. If she thinks back to last night, what she was doing that caused her to bite so hard into her own lip, enough even to draw a little blood... then Derek would be getting some very clear chemo signals.

“Lydia.”

She doesn’t hear his voice so much as feel it gust over her lips. She shivers, despite herself and unbidden last night’s memories come back to her.

“Lydia.” Pitched this time and still just as close. “What were you doing?”

“I think you know, Derek.”

When she opens her eyes again, his are right there. Derek shifts slightly, an indication that he’s picked up on everything she’s left unsaid.

“I think I might.” He turns her head, slowly, with just the fingertips of his right hand against her cheek, pinky caught under her jaw.

“Does it hurt now?”

“No.” 

Derek moves his fingers in a drag across her skin, leaving trails of heat that must be visible for how brightly Lydia can feel the blood pulsing against her cheek. He lifts them off, one by one, until just one is left, dancing under the curve of her lower lip.

He looks into her eyes, unblinking. “Does this hurt.”

“No.”

The finger moves up to rest directly over where it’s still sensitive and bruised from last night. Lydia lets her eyes flutter closed and parts her lips on an exhale.

“This?”

“No.” His finger moves with her lips as she speaks. She wants to dart her tongue out and taste him, just a little bit, just to see if she’s imagined it right. 

But this stillness between them is so much better. More intense. Lydia feels stretched out, thin, vulnerable in a way she hasn’t felt with anyone before. She feels small. But not insignificant, small like her whole being has been crammed right into her bottom lip, at that one point on her body where Derek is touching her.

Derek pushes his finger against her lip.

“This?”

“A little.” Lydia opens her eyes as the ache vanishes suddenly. Small black lines are inking their way up Derek’s arm from his finger. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t like you hurting.” He withdraws his finger, pressing it to where he must be feeling a phantom ache.

“I don’t mind it. The ache.” Derek looks confused. “It’s a reminder.”

“Oh.”

Lydia stares at Derek. He stares at her lips. 

They sit in a stalemate, neither sure of what to do. Does Lydia make a move toward Derek, or had it only been about taking her pain away. 

Derek shifts again, closer to Lydia though still not touching despite the infinitesimal slither of space between them on the couch.

Time slows then, or it was always going slow and Lydia only just realised it. Derek leans in. Lydia doesn’t move.

Derek is slow but sure up to the point where they’re so close they’re sharing breaths, then he flicks his eyes up to hers. Lydia nods because what else can she do. He moves forward and Lydia chokes in a breath before going absolutely still.

Derek takes her bottom lip between his teeth, barely a bite, eyes locked onto hers. Lydia can’t breathe. 

She moans instead and watches as Derek’s pupils grow larger. He increases the pressure on her lip and she makes the noise again, clenches her legs together, remembers to breathe finally and takes a breath that makes her chest rise and fall with exaggerated motion. 

Her heart, it must have stopped before, just for a moment, because now it’s racing to catch up.

Derek leans back just enough to fit his thumb in the gap between his lips and hers, to place it over where he bit and take away the pain. 

Lydia moves finally. She circles the wrist of Derek’s hand, puts her own pressure on it to match his, tugs it down, leans forward to kiss Derek, gently so her abused lip doesn’t get smashed back against her teeth. The press of their lips is a revelation and the epicentre that was Lydia, that tiniest part of her body held captive earlier under Derek’s finger, it grows and grows and grows and her whole body fills with quivering _rightness._

When she pulls back Derek sways forward and Lydia smiles, moving her hand over his wrist and up his palm so their fingers link. She can feel Derek’s pulse under her thumb, fast like hers. A sign that he’s feeling everything just as much as she is.

That confirmation is all she needs to spur into action, change the stillness that’s settled over them into motion. Serenity into a whirlwind. 

She slides her body over so that they’re touching, finally, thighs pressing together. The hand not holding his moves through his hair, marvelling at its thickness, feeling the shape of his skull beneath it. She drags his face toward hers and kisses him with intent, trying to pour all of the energy she feels inside of him, not minding anymore if the pressure on her lip is too much. Wanting it even. Wanting proof and another reminder for later. 

Derek’s fingers flex over their joined hands and his other moves around to her waist, pulling her closer, their torsos pressing together with their clasped hands trapped between them.

In all honesty, Lydia is surprised this - her and Derek - hasn’t happen sooner. All the time she’s spent in his loft, researching for the pack, the nights getting later and later, longer and longer, not just about the research anymore. Dinner some nights. A sleepover once. In a way it’s all been building to this. One long stretch of foreplay that makes this moment so much more heady.

The way their lips slot together near perfectly, how they already move in sync with each other, a parting of mouths here and a change of angle there. When Derek’s tongue comes out to play with the crease of her lips, press against the spot she’d bitten into last night, Lydia opens her mouth for him.

The taste of Derek is nothing much at all and honestly, Lydia has never understood the appeal of french kissing, not when lips were much more fun to play with, and not when tongue had more effective uses elsewhere. She may need to change her opinion. Maybe it’s Derek’s experience, or maybe it’s that Lydia’s entire body feels alive with kinetic energy, but his tongue in her mouth is doing something to her. Nerves lighting up in the roof of her mouth and on the underside of her tongue when he trails his along it. 

She pulls back to breathe and her brain immediately latches on to all the other sensations; Derek’s hand still in her own, his pulse still a frantic beat against hers, his fingers pressing into the small of her back, slipped just under the waistband of her skirt. The way her breasts are pressing against his chest and both of them are breathing in tandem.

“Is it hurting?”

Lydia has to blink a few times to get her brain to focus on his words and not his hands.

“Is it,” he leans in, sucks her bottom lip in between his, leans back, “hurting.”

“Not at all.” There are too many feelings happening in her body for that one singular hurt to stand out.

“Good.” Derek smiles brightly then leans back against his couch cushion and tugs her hand. Lydia follows it, lifting herself up to swing her leg over his, knees on either side of his thighs. 

Derek lets go of her hand then, softening his smile to that gentle uplift of his lips that Lydia adores. She braces her hands on his chest, feels the sturdy contour of muscles flex beneath them as Derek’s arms circle around her waist and smooth and up down her back. Derek pulls her closer and she moves easily, the denim of his jeans rubbing friction against her thighs as her skirt gets pushed further up her legs the closer she gets to him.

He kisses her again with firm lips and she digs her fingers into his chest, moves her fingers outwards in search of his nipples. She finds them and is rewarded with his sharp inhale, the sudden loss of his head as he jerks it backwards, eyes flying open.

She rubs her thumbs over them again and Derek shivers, rests his head against her neck to suck in shaky breathes. She keeps teasing him until Derek surges up again and latches onto her lips, tongue moving quickly against them. He moves Lydia’s hands from his chest back into his hair and Lydia goes with it, thrusting her body against his and dragging upwards, seeking her own friction.

Derek hands deftly move beneath the waistband of her skirt to pull her shirt out from where it’s been tucked in. He spreads his hands flat against the skin of her back and Lydia sighs out, drops her own hand down the back of his t-shirt so she can feel his skin against her palm, going by memory alone to where she thinks the triskellion tattoo rests on his back.

But it’s not enough. Lydia’s hands twist in the fabric of his shirt, tugging up until Derek lifts his arms and lets her pull it off, tossing it over the arm of the couch. And then she looks. 

He is gorgeous. Firm muscles and smooth, tanned skin and pretty nipples still pert and eager. She bends down to lick at one and then the other, leans back to see them gleam.

Derek unbuttons her shirt and Lydia leans back to let him, watches as his eyes track over each bit of skin revealed. He presses a line of kisses down the centre of her chest and licks his way back up. Lydia shivers, exhales a shaky sigh.

Derek kisses over the swell of her breasts and up to nudge the shirt over her shoulder with his nose, trailing more kisses over her skin as he pushes the sleeves down her arms. Laves his tongue over the cluster of veins in the crook of her elbow and then at her wrist. Lifting it up between them he locks eyes with her and sucks the skin in, gently at first and then harsher with a pointed tongue when Lydia squirms and reaches out for something to hold on to.

She's breathing in too heavily and shivering both from the cold air on her now exposed back and the way Derek is licking and kissing his way up her neck and back to her mouth. She anchors her hands in his hair again to steady herself and throws everything she has into kissing him. She sucks hard, moves quickly, shuffles her body closer to Derek’s so she can press her chest against his.

She works a hand in between them, grazing down Derek’s chest to pop the button on his jeans and tug down the zip. The angle is unbelievably awkward because she doesn’t want to lose contact between her breasts and his chest but Derek moans out anyway when her knuckles brush him through the fabric and he thrusts up in a small move that unsettles Lydia from his mouth.

While Lydia continues to run her knuckles with little intent but to feel, Derek ducks his head to suck at her nipples through the fabric of her bra. Lydia shudders and chokes on a whimper, her hand accidently pressing harder against Derek. She feels him twitch under her and increases the pressure of her fingers again.

Derek tries to spread his legs wider and whines when his jeans won’t let him. Lydia pushes against his chest, tweaks his nipple to get his attention, then gets off him and fumbles to pull of his jeans. Derek lifts his hips up to help her and Lydia looks him over eagerly, glistening skin and quaking muscles. His pupils are so far blown it’s hard to tell whether his eyes are their human colour or bleeding through with the wolf.

While she’s off him, she reaches behind to unclasp her bra and pulls it off quickly, tossing it on top of her shirt.

Derek sits up and moves to the edge of the couch, reaches and pulls her in by the waist so she’s standing between his legs. He kisses across her stomach and then between her breasts before sucking the right one into his mouth. Without the fabric of her bra providing an extra layer, the heat from Derek is intense. Lydia flutters her fingers over Derek’s arms where they’re grasping her waist and rocks her body closer to Derek, breathing out breathy little moans ever time his tongue flicks over her nipple. Derek moves his left hand up to start playing with her other breast and Lydia can’t stop the spasm that her body makes.

She’s an electrical storm. 

It gets to be too much with all Derek’s attention directed toward her breasts that she grabs Derek’s face roughly and tilts his head up so she can lean down and devour his lips. Giving back hard and trying to relieve some of the fantastic tension that’s humming beneath her skin. Derek’s returning the sentiment with a deft tongue and pointed sucking, sore lip be damned. He’s probably forgotten about it by this point, Lydia certainly has.

She keeps kissing him, pushing into him and moving back when he counters, but reaches to tug down her skirt and kick it off to god knows where. She straddles him against but leaves enough room that she can fit her hands between their bodies and run her palms up his thighs. She teases under the edge of his briefs with her fingertips and he mimics the move with his lips, pulling back from their kiss to lick around her lips. Lydia tries to move to catch his mouth but he’s always too quick.

She groans and Derek laughs.

Lydia goes for his neck, exposed as he tossed his head back. She sucks, licks, bites a little and Derek isn’t laughing anymore, just groaning and speaking her name roughly. She traces her fingers around his chest, up his sides and over his arms and he runs his whole hand up her thighs, lighting up her nerve endings on the way.

He runs the pad of his thumb lightly over the front of her underwear and Lydia shudders and bucks into him. He does it again and again and again and again and Lydia moans out every time. She’s not teasing his neck anymore. She’s pressing her forehead against it and panting, holding on tight to his shoulders like an anchor in the storm.

Eventually she has a clear enough mind to drop her own hand and slip it under the waistband of Derek’s brief’s. As soon as her fingers make contact with Derek, rubbing across the wet head of his cock, the werewolf is thrusting toward her hand. She wraps her fingers around him and moves her hand up and down.

She’s not sure who initiated but they’re kissing again, more movement than skill. More fight than finesse. But providing that extra heat and wetness that compliments what the rest of their bodies are feeling.

From then on it is antiphonal. Whenever Lydia grasps him harder, or changes her angle, Derek rubs his fingers against her faster or harder. When Derek backs of from rubbing her clit, Lydia uncurls her hand so it’s just her finger tips running along his length. Teasing.

When Lydia stars up again, Derek does too.

It’s seconds. It’s minutes.

It’s moments.

Lydia breaks the kiss and uses her tongue to trace the shell of Derek’s ear, breathe warm air against his skin. Derek pulls her underwear to the side and finally drags his bare fingers between her folds, slides them easily through her wetness and slips the tip of one inside her.

Lydia moans, loud and long and unabashed and Derek swallows it right out of her mouth.

She runs her palm over the head of his dick, gets her hand wetter, and starts getting him off faster, trying to push herself down onto his finger but there’s nowhere to go. He gets it though and soon he has two fingers inside her, moving in and out slower than she’s stripping him off but that doesn’t matter because Lydia’s feeling him in her palm and imagining it somewhere else and it _doesn’t matter_ that it’s not happening right now because _this_ is and it just can’t stop. 

Every exhale is so loud that Lydia doesn’t think she can hear anything else, though Derek’s mouth is shaping her name over and over. She speeds up further, grasps Derek tighter and this time she can hear her name cut over the top of her breathing, coming to her on the crest of a groan that Derek unleashes.

She’s close. She’s so close that she can’t think of anything but her orgasm. She drops a hand down from where it’s been flicking frantically at Derek’s nipple to move her own finger through her wetness and circle her clit. Derek watches her with avid fascination and finally speeds his fingers to match her frantic pace. He starts thrusting up into her hand, and they’re both so messy and whatever syncopation their bodies had earlier, way back when it was just their lips working together, it’s been sacrificed to a burning ache. 

Lydia feels a literal flood of warmth through her entire body and knows she’s seconds away. She keeps up her pace, one hand on Derek and the other on herself, until she’s shuddering and shuddering and twitching and there’s a sound like a sigh and a moan and she slumps her body down, pressing her face hard into Derek’s chest while she works herself through it.

Derek’s still thrusting into her hand even though she stopped moving it in the thralls of her climax. He must have slipped his fingers out of her at some point because now they're glancing all around her body, running over absolutely everywhere. Lydia’s sweaty and wet and very near weary but she starts moving again, lifts her head to kiss Derek. He grasps her face and kisses her so hard she struggles to get in any air but it’s less than a minute before he’s lifting his whole torso up and tightening beneath her, sighing out her name like he can’t help it and screwing his eyes shut. Lydia keeps moving her hand over him until there’s nothing left and then she moves off him, returning to her place beside him in some strange full circle from the beginning of the night.

Lydia close her eyes and leans her head back against the couch, taking the time to breathe deeply and slowly getting her heart rate to return to normal. She reaches blindly and finds Derek’s hand, linking their fingers together like she had earlier in the night. She can feel traces of herself on his fingers still. Another reminder.

Like the throbbing in her bottom lip. It pulses in time with her heart beat, a steady reminder of what just happened between her and Derek.

**Author's Note:**

> So that was my first foray as an author into the PWP tag. _*uncrosses fingers*_
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Feedback appreciated!


End file.
